CJ: Shut up, I wasn’t
done.—Your forgotten limp carcass will arise, held up by dancing rats and
happyworms. They will flop you around the Desert of Never like a dead fish with
plastic bones. And the god whose voice drips bile—that beast who ridicules us—we
will kill that sluggish pile of vomit. He will never mouth again! Hail my
voiceless words!!

Me: Uh—

CJ: The smell of a fresh
kill is the perfume of the zombie heads. They dream of their next victims as they
float above their skeleton beds. (grins, shows rotten teeth)

Me: (feeling uncomfortable)
Okay, so you've been there? You've felt evil warm you like a hot wind? Have you
spoken to the devil himself?

CJ: Yes . . . I . . .
have! I have tasted the green flames of the devil's brains. I have licked the
black forehead above his flaming unibrow! And I have done this many times. It's
a god's sexual fantasy come untrue. It's like the wind that growls with
insanity, and I think you should do it too.

Me: No, I could never do that. I’m not even sure I
believe in him. God however—

CJ: Fool! You’ve spoken
to me, therefore I have you! Not even the Honeycomb Church of God can sew your
ripped soul back together! Your heart is now a prisoner in the city of fire. If
you try getting out, the black pentagon will overcome you, and your thoughts
will dissipate among the void.

And I! And I! Ha! Ha! Ha!
And I am the soul of the pancake that will make you as flat as me. I will pour
lava syrup on your genitals so that you may never breed. We don't want your
godhugger offspring in our suspended flapjack of love!

Me: (sweating, shaking)
But I’m like a lonely scared brain in the rain, searching for that special
skull. This is how I feel.

CJ: Bullhonkey, you're
like an eager bowl out on parole, searching for that special herb. That is how
you feel! Am I Right?

Me: No—

CJ: Shut-t-t up-p-p! You
are through! If you don’t follow me I will hollow you. The fraction of a second
it will take to destroy you will be millions of centuries inside your soul, and
your reflection will stare back at you through purple smoke as your spine
cracks and your eyes choke. Then your head will be on display in a glass box, and
your precious memories will be dissected and fed to purple space sharks.

How ya feel, I say how ya
be feelin' 'bout dat, aye? (throws me to the ground, thrashes me)

Me: Noooooo! Jack, your
madness has thrown my dreams into the shock of a sunless day! I cannot join you,
no matter my fate! Oh, dear god! The end is near. My death has come for me!